


Sometimes

by jonghyundroppedthesoap



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, How Do I Tag, Idiots in Love, John is a Mess, Lonely John, M/M, Nightmares, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend, Suicidal Thoughts, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:45:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonghyundroppedthesoap/pseuds/jonghyundroppedthesoap
Summary: John's life has always consisted of sometimes.Until Sherlock.





	Sometimes

  1. Sometimes, John awakes in the middle of the night, breath erratic and a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. He recalls the war and recalls the bullet, voices calling out in a blur as he struggles to maintain consciousness.   
The nightmares remind John of what his life was, what it could have been, and what it is. He wants to call out – cry for help. The pain is almost too much. Eventually, his breaths calm to an even hum, the only sound present being that of his own racing heartbeat.   
He is not at war.  
Sometimes, he wishes he was.



*

  1. Sometimes, whether it's because his hands need something to do, he craves its placidity, or is catering to a guest, John makes tea. He revels in its soothing aroma and the familiar process of boiling a kettle – an act he now feels capable of doing closed eye.  
After meeting Sherlock, however, John finds it _wrong_ to make tea for just one. Every day, by natural force, he searches fervently for two clean mugs, grabs two teabags, and pours two cups.   
On most occasions, they sit opposite in their armchairs; John reads the paper and Sherlock reads his mind. On others, John brings a mug to Sherlock’s room, leaving it on his nightstand under the pretence that he’ll wake soon.   
Even in Sherlock’s absence, John makes two.   
Sometimes, after realising his mistake, he drinks both.



*

  1. Sometimes, even after its long-term absence, John limps. His leg aches with a distant memory, and all of a sudden, he’s inhibited for the remainder of the day.   
When this occurs, John prefers to stay in the flat. Trashy television passes in the background as he types a blog post, letter by letter.  
Sherlock tells him it’s in his head. He knows, but that doesn’t make it go away.   
Every so often, a case comes to whisk John away from his worries and drowns him in adrenaline. He runs alongside Sherlock, and he remembers how the man saved him.  
Sometimes, he wonders what would happen if there were no more cases.



*

  1. Sometimes, in the midst of the chase, John _notices_. He notices the way light reflects off Sherlock's cheekbones, catching in the sunlight as they run down an abandoned alleyway. He notices the subtle bounce of Sherlock’s curls, dancing around their flat in excitement at the prospect of yet another delectable crime.   
Whether it’s a visible weight gain, or a not-so visible change in sleeping pattern, John notices.   
And so when Sherlock lies on the cool stone beneath Barts, blood pooling around his head, John can’t help but notice. The bright blue eyes which once studied him so immensely, stare into the sky, lifeless. They don’t observe. They don’t deduce.  
In fact, for the next two years, they don’t do much at all.   
Sometimes, upon noticing there is no man beside him in which to share his joy, John wishes he were lifeless, too.



*

  1. Sometimes, John is overcome with an anger so ferocious he burns. His fists clench, his breath quickens, and he struggles to control the impending explosion under the façade of a brittle grin.   
When Sherlock returns, two years later, the anger strikes John hard. He knows it’s Sherlock. He can tell by the expression on his face – remorseful yet naïve, like he doesn’t quite know what he has done wrong. But while John sees and knows Sherlock is there, he still fails to understand.  
In this particular moment of incomprehension, John finds his hands clutching the lapels of Sherlock’s tuxedo, shaking him senseless until the red fades to a dull white. Sherlock remains unmoving and takes it all. This only riles John further.  
When they eventually return to 221B, John wraps Sherlock in a long awaited embrace, tears soaking his shoulder in silent apology. Tea is made. Words are spoken. Forgiveness is granted.   
But the bruises on John’s knuckles continue to taunt him for days on end.  
Sometimes, John thinks that Sherlock might be better off without him.



*

  1. Sometimes, in his darkest of moments, John recalls the loneliness. Not loneliness in the sense that there is no one else around, but in the sense that everybody is smiling behind a glass wall he just can’t break.  
It hits him worse on days least anticipated. John stands in the grocery store, list in hand, and is suddenly painfully aware that no one stands with him. He wills himself to calm.   
It is only hours later, however, when John is returned home, where serenity is truly granted. Perhaps Sherlock can deduce his anxiety. Or perhaps he is more compassionate than John ever gave him credit for. Because within a moment of seeing John enter the flat, he walks over silently and wraps him in his arms.   
“Never again.” Sherlock says.  
Sometimes, it’s as though nothing has changed.



*

  1. Sometimes, when sleep fails to concede and insomnia taunts him, Sherlock slips beneath the sheets of John’s bed as twilight fades to blackness. His breathing calms, rest is granted, and often enough, John awakes with a lithe figure strewn across his own.   
Sometimes, Sherlock sleeps.  
Sometimes, he doesn’t.  
Sometimes, John awakes with a pair of lips pressed against his throat.  
Sometimes, with the calming song of the violin.  
Sometimes, on particularly favourable mornings, John awakes on his own. In these instances, Sherlock snores soundlessly beside him, and John revels in the way sunlight reflects off his pale skin. His lashes flutter delicately against his cheeks, stirring him awake to meet John’s tender gaze.  
And sometimes, after a long day or a weary week, Sherlock will ask softly in the dead of night.  
"John. Do you love me?"  
They lie together, side by side, and John's answer is the same every time.  
"Always."



 

 


End file.
